


Let Me Be Yours

by safe_haven



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safe_haven/pseuds/safe_haven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete Wentz is a teenage boy struggling through his senior year of high school, making bad grades and not having enough time for a social life, granting him one, maybe two friends. Patrick Stump is a teenage boy striding through his senior year of high school, making perfect grades and still having time for a social life, where he picks his friends on their looks and smarts. These two meet up in a very unexpected way-they're both chasing after the same girl, a curvy, foxy rebel named Veronica. Does this tug-of-war bring them together, or drive them further apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fight Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading this story! It's all unedited-with my crazy schedule, I have no time for that! But I hope it's okay with you, and stay alive sunshine l-/

Pete scrambled into his class, a total of ten minutes late for the third time that month. "I'm sorry-" he gasped, bending over as he caught his breath. "You know, I was just trying to get my homework done, and then I had to study, and then I missed the bus-" "No time for excuses, Mr. Wentz," his teacher, Ms. Gaston, said strictly. "Sit." He trudged to the back of the classroom, dropping his book bag on the ground, where it slumped in a black heap of textbooks and binders. Patrick Stump, the kid that sat next to him, seemed in no hurry. He lounged in his chair, his green eyes following Ms. Gaston slowly around the room. 

"Teach me how not to fail," Pete begged him. Patrick laughed, a strange, amused laugh and patted Pete on the shoulder. "It's okay," he told him. "It'll be okay." Kacey, a girl sitting in front of Patrick, turned around. "Patrick, seriously, I haven't even started that stupid project yet." Patrick raised an eyebrow. "The one that was due yesterday?" Kacy nodded, scoffing. Patrick shook his head. "Why are we friends?" he asked her. Kacey shrugged and turned back around, starting to complain to her partner, Kyla, about her stupid teachers and all the work that was due that she had yet to start. 

Class droned on, though Pete never got bored. Gerard and Brendon sat in the desks next to him, and they always had the most interesting conversations. And Leanna, if you gave her the chance, was the funniest girl in the world. "-because it's not sexual harassment if you don't like it," Gerard was saying. "That's not how the law works," Leanna said, pulling a disgusted face that made Brendon laugh. "-and it's raining," Ms. Gaston was saying. "So we don't get to go on the courtyard today. And who wants to be cooped up inside the cafeteria?" She was reading out of a book called "Dear Seventh grade diary."

"Barrack Obama would want to be cooped up in the cafeteria," Brendon muttered under his breath. Leanna choked on the pancakes she was eating (don't question Leanna. She has her own style.), spitting grape juice on her black shirt. "Jesus, Brendon," she gasped, making Gerard laugh. The bell rung, and everyone jumped, shifting and moving. We flooded into the hallway, and I grouped together with my few friends. I make my way through the school hallway, holding my bookbag tightly by the straps of it. Brendon Urie and Gerard Way are walking next to me, chatting away about their boyfriends, Ryan Ross and Frank Iero. 

"Pete, you need a boyfriend," Gerard said, grabbing Pete by the arm. They are the school emos. They are 16 year old girls. "Has it ever occurred to you guys that I may be straight?" Pete asked them, annoyed. Pete looked at Brendon for about two seconds before all three of them burst into laughter. "Yea, yea, no," Brendon said, wiping an imaginary tear out of his eye. "But seriously, guys, I'm bi. Boy or girl." Gerard sighed, nodding. "Okay, whatever, man." The school bell rang and they split ways, scattering to their different classes. For this class, Pete had learned how to get by without doing any work. It was the old, witch of a science teacher, but she has bad memory, so ask her to go to the bathroom at the beginning of class, and you can walk back in at the end without her suspecting a thing.

That was one of the good things about these sharp instincts of his. He settled into my chair, and was about to fill out a pass when a girl sat down in front of him. She had deep chocolate eyes, a soft nose, and a rounded chin. Her skin was smooth and soft and pale, her cheeks having just a hint of red. Her hair was as black and glossy as a jewel, hanging in locks of perfect curls around her perfectly shaped face. Her eyelashes were long and curved, her lips unpainted, but as red as a blooming rose. She smiled at Pete, then stood. She was wearing shorts, revealing her smooth, long legs. She was wearing a tight red shirt that hugged tightly to her curves, and her neck was encircled with a necklace of white angel wings.

The new girl swayed over to the front table, her hips swinging slightly. She was wearing gray, knee high boots that clicked on the white tile as she walked back. "I'm Veronica," she said, reaching across the table to shake Pete's hand. "I'm completely single," he told her, shaking it loosely. She laughed, shaking her head. "I saw you with that Patrick kid," she smirked. Pete choked, then composed himself. "I'm not...we're not dating," he said. "Just friends..." She nodded, her lips moving together. Pete almost drooled, but managed to pull his eyes away from her. Maybe he would stay in this class for just a little bit longer.

After the bell rung for lunch, Veronica stood, moving to get her book bag. She slung it over her shoulder as she started to sway out the door. Pete followed her, and ended up bumping into Brendon and Gerard. "Damn," Brendon whistled. "Who's the new girl?" Veronica turned around, glaring at him. "My name is Veronica, and I would prefer you not refer to me in that way." She smiled tightly, then turned around as if she were trying to control her anger.

Pete blinked once, surprised at her outburst, then shrugged it off and ran to catch up with Patrick. "Yo-Patrick?" Patrick was hugging himself, tears streaking down his face. "Patrick, what's wrong?" Patrick shook his head, forging on and leaving Pete behind. Pete chased after him, wanting to know what was wrong. Patrick kept denying that something was wrong, but when they sat down, Pete finally was able to pull it out of him. "Why is everyone...leaving me?" he choked between tears. "Am I just that...hateable?" The pauses in his voice broke Pete's heart, to know that he was that sad about whatever it was. 

"Patrick, I will never leave you." Pete scooted as close as he could to Patrick, and wrapped an arm around him. "I know I'm not much, but you've still got Veronica." He saw the confused girl standing at the front of the cafeteria, and waved her over. Patrick's eyes slid over her, drinking every feature in. "Hello, again, Veronica," he smiled. Veronica returned the smile. "It'll be okay. I'll never leave you, either," she said, seeming to know what Patrick was crying about. "Fuck Abigail." A girl with brown hair and green eyes turned around in her seat, throwing us a disgusted look. Patrick flicked her off, and she whirled back around. Pete smiled. "I think this will work out great." 


	2. Chapter 2

"-and so then that bitch called me a bitch. Like, bitch." Veronica finished her story with a dramatic flip of her hair, and me and Patrick laughed. "I cannot believe that that bitch called you bitch, you bitch. She's such a bitch," Patrick said in his best rich white girl voice. Veronica rolled her eyes, though a smile adorned her lips. "Shut up, Patrick," she said. "Remember, my songs know what you did in the dark." With that comment, she popped another fry into her mouth and walked away, her tray in hand. "She's mine," I hissed to Patrick as soon as she was gone. "No, she's mine," he shot back, getting up and dumping his tray in the tall trash can. 

I followed him, and we argued over it until we got outside, to where Veronica was waiting, and then we were both silent, grinning at her. "Okay, guys," she said, her hips swaying as she pulled a book bag onto her shoulder. "I want to talk to you about something." So, on the way to her house, she gave a lecture on famous poets, like William Shakespeare, Robert Frost, and Emily Dickinson. "These are amazing people that came from the worst conditions possible. Some of them were persecuted for what they did, and yet the memory of them is still so widely known, it's not even funny..." She went on like this.

Veronica was the kind of girl who was always fighting and lecturing for rights, and giving speeches about the past, and people who have made it to the top. I liked that about her. She had this fire that could never be put out. We stomped up the steps to her front porch. "MOM!" She screamed. "I'M HOME!" She slammed the door behind us. A small golden poodle bounced up to us, licking wherever she could. Veronica patted her head and then moved on, dropping her book bag on the dining table. "Mom, I brought home friends. This is Pete and Patrick." Her mom was sitting in the living room, curled in a chair and reading. So that's where Veronica got it from. 

"Oh, hi," her mom smiled. "Hi, Ms. Jules," Patrick greeted. "Please, call me Kate," she said, waving off the formal greeting. "We're going upstairs to study." Veronica said, making a peace sign with two fingers, then moved away, running up the stairs. When they got upstairs, Veronica was sitting at her computer, typing loudly, her fingers practically banging against the keys. Without turning around, she questioned, "Do you know how photographers and painters want to make people feel something with their work?" Patrick sat next to her. "Yeah," he answered softly. "I do." Veronica nodded. "I want to make people feel something with my writing. And everyday, I get closer and closer to that. I want to be an inspiration." Her pink lips curved into a smile. "I want to be that fanfiction writer that has tons of views, and the comments are always like 'sjfosnfkajf,' you know?"

Patrick laughed. "Yes, yes, I do know, Veronica." I growled at him, but sat down next to Veronica, smiling. "So you want to be like them," I whispered. Her eyes softened, her fingers slowing to a stop on the keys. The little black line blinked next to the word "blood," and Veronica stared with a sort of love at her computer. "I do. I really, really do." She got out of her chair and went over to a whiteboard on her wall that I had never noticed before. She yanked a black marker from her nightstand, pulling off the cap and writing stuff down next to a bullet. "And that's not going to happen unless I make something worth that much emotion."

She drew lines, connecting dots, drawing boxes and borders. "And I want...I want..." she turned around, capping her marker. Her brown eyes were filling with tears. "I want to be...worth it." She threw herself onto her bed, running a hand through her thick hair. "I don't know. Maybe I'm not worth all of this trouble. Maybe my works will never be propped  up in the window of a book store. Maybe I'm just not important enough to be noticed like that." She sighed as she pulled her legs in, sitting cross legged on the black bed sheets. "And maybe you're wrong," Patrick said. Veronica looked up as tears spilled from her eyes. "What?" she whispered. 

"You are like William Shakespeare, and Emily Dickinson, and Robert Frost. Did they believe in themselves when they sat at their desk and wrote? No. They didn't. They probably gave up a lot. They probably sat with their friends and cried because they didn't think that anyone would ever be affected by their poems, but look where they are now." Veronica smiled at that, shaking her head. "Their books are propped up in the windows of book stores everywhere. They are important enough to be noticed like that. They make people  _feel_ something. And I promise you, Veronica, that someday, somebody will pass by a book store, look at your book through the window, and remember what it made them feel." Veronica jumped forward to hug Patrick. "Thank you so much, Pat," she whispered into his shoulder. "I really needed that."

"And hey," I said, patting her shoulder. She pulled away to look at me. "Here is what is going to happen." I leaned forward, so we were close to each other. I smiled as wide as I could. "Your book will be propped in the window of a family owned book store, and a teenage girl dressed in a red plaid shirt, jeans, and brown boots, and a white beanie, will come into that store with beautiful brown hair in a side braid and big glasses and will think that that store smells like a bakery, and the air is so warm it's like being wrapped in a blanket. A storm will be raging outside, but that perfect girl will be sitting, curled up with your book in her lap."

Veronica stared at him for a minute before grinning. "You get me," she said. She hugged him tightly as she laughed, a broken, crying sound. "God, Pete," she whispered. "I love you." 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Skip-maybe two weeks.

**Two weeks later from Patrick's POV:**

Pete and I hadn't seen Veronica at school in a week. Her and Pete had started dating, and I had to give him credit for that. I mean, a boy like me would never end up with a girl like her. I decided to go after school on Friday to check on her, to see if she was okay. It could have simply been a bad cold that had kept her away from school. I knocked on the front door of her house, and I was greeted with a worried-looking Kate. "Hey, Kate," I chuckled nervously.

"Oh, you're that nice Patrick kid," she said, smiling. "Oh, I guess Veronica will be happy to see you." She stepped back, opening the door for me. "Come in, come in," she said hurriedly. "Um, Veronica's in her room." I walked up the stairs, glancing back and seeing the worried mom standing at the foot of them, wringing her hands together. "Go on, go on," she said, waving her hand. I blinked, then started to move up the stairs again. After a few more steps, a small, skinny girl with blonde hair came out of the room next to Veronica's.

Her hair was wispy and pulled back into a high ponytail. She had a soft nose and heart shaped face like Veronica, but soft freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. Her eyes were almond shaped and a dull green. She was wearing shorts and a pink t shirt. Her legs were long and skinny, and she was barefoot. Her skin was darker than Veronica's, but lighter than her mom's, which made it a creamy, smooth caramel color, almost matching her hair. 

"You must be Laura," I said. "Veronica's little sister. I thought she said you were in the seventh grade?" Okay, in my defense, I had perfect right to say that. She looked like a kindergartener. "I am," she said. It was a smooth, cool tone, as if she were used to people saying she looked younger than her real age. She smiled. "I'm just really small. What's your name?" "Patrick," I greeted, holding out my hand to her. She shook it, then looked over her shoulder at Veronica's room door.

"A-Are you here to see Veronica?" she asked. I nodded. "G-Good luck," she stuttered, then edged around me, running down the stairs. What was up with all the weird behavior? I knocked on Veronica's door. "Go away," I heard a muffled voice say. "Hey, Veronica!" I said through the door. "Go AWAY!" Glass shattered against the other side of the door, and I gasped, jumping back. "Veronica?" I said warily. "It's Patrick."

Finally, the door opened, and Veronica stood there, her lip hitched up in a growl. Her hair was straight, her eyes circled with eyeliner. The glass that had been thrown was a bottle of alcohol. She was holding a cigarette in her long, slim fingers, and smoke filtered from the tail end. "Veronica?" I whimpered. "What the fuck do you want?" she asked. "Are you okay?" I asked, glancing past her. Papers and books were torn to shreds, scattered about her room.

Bottles of vodka were laying on her nightstand and dresser, empty ones on the floor. "Do I look o-fucking-kay?" she asked. Cautiously, I took a step forward, and she took a step back. "No," she said. "What?" I asked. "No what?" She scowled at me. "No, don't try to fix me. I'm not a broken toy." She brought her cigarette to her lips, then lowered it. It took a few minutes for her to blow smoke out between her teeth.

"I didn't say you were," I swallowed hard, trying not to breathe in the smoke. "I know you didn't. But you're acting like it. And..." I trailed off there at the look of complete anger on her face. She slammed her door, and I jumped back, my eyes wide. Slowly, I walked back down the stairs. Her mom flinched when she saw the look on my face. "She's been like this for a while," she said in her strange, foreign accent. "I am sorry." She gave me a hug, then scooted away.

I walked out the front door numbly. Laura was doing cartwheels in the grass outside, but she stopped once she saw me. "I'm sorry," she whispered. I waved it off, and gave her a small hug. "Goodbye, Laura," I said. "Bye," she said quietly. I walked back to my house, where Pete was waiting on the front porch. "Dude, I heard your parents weren't home all weekend!" I nodded, faking a smile, and we both went inside. "Where were you?" he asked.

"Veronica's. God, she's horrible now." I explained to him what had happened at her house as we stomped up the stairs to my room to play video games, and he flinched as he listened to the description of what his light hearted, bright and cheerful girlfriend had become over the course of a week. "And it's all your fault," I finished. His eyes widened at this. "How is this my fault?" he asked defensively. 

Suddenly, I pushed him against the wall, our bodies pressed together. I could feel his stomach, hard and yet soft against mine, and I wanted to sink into it, to escape whatever demonic, hellish reality I was living in where Veronica was depressed and drinking. I tried not to remember the empty look in her eyes and the anger when she yelled at me. I tried not to remember the absolute brokenness, because I feared that if I looked into Pete's eyes now, I could see the same broken stare. 

Pete was scared and surprised at my freak out. His brown eyes showed that. His black hair was messy. "Because you won't realize that I love you, douchebag!" I yelled, then slammed my lips against his. Realizing what I had done, I suddenly stepped back. His eyes were wide and terrified as he slid back to his feet. "P-Patrick?" he asked. My chest tightened. 

And I ran. 

 


End file.
